


Counter Surfing

by c0cunt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Sasha Blouse, Other, morning after a house party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0cunt/pseuds/c0cunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean usually hosts parties in the apartment he shares with Connie when his roommate is out of town on business, and typically those parties are cleaned up and done with by the time Connie returns.  However, this time Connie comes home to an apartment that smells faintly of weed, a living room of half-asleep people, Ymir in the bathtub, and a person who had perfected the art of counter surfing while sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counter Surfing

**Author's Note:**

> Counter Surfing - looking for food on counter tops. Typically used to describe dogs that are tall enough to search for and steal food off of counter tops.
> 
> This fic is based on me mistaking a potato for a kiwi at like, 2am last night, and proceeding to howl about how I wanted to take a bite out of it. It became Springles because it made sense to become Springles.  
> [Check out the sweet art that @AceQueenM drew of Sasha in this!](http://c0cunt.tumblr.com/post/153265393650)

  Connie was usually pretty chill when his roommate Jean threw parties when he was out of town on business trips.  But usually, Jean was smart enough to remember what day Connie was returning, and didn’t host them the night before.  Which meant, a majority of the time, Connie came home to their apartment in relatively similar condition to how he left it.  Today, however, was not the case:  There were very slightly moving lumps of blankets that could’ve been people rolled up all around their living room, empty cans on every available surface, and even with the windows open, the distinct smell of weed burned Connie’s nose.  In the middle of the mayhem, where their couch should have been, and wrapped up in the arms of his datemates, lay a very dazed looking Jean dressed in a miniskirt and a bralet (with what appeared to be a fuzzy rabbit tail sticking out from underneath the hem of his skirt, too far back between his legs to just be decorative).  Connie wasn’t sure if he should be amused or horrified.

  “Uh...Everyone alive in here?”  Connie asked uncertainly as he toed his shoes off by the welcome mat.  An off-key chorus of agreeing noises rose from the lumps in every direction, some sounding much more coherent than the others.  Jean barely lifted his head in Connie’s direction before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, and groaning piteously.  

  Connie attempted to take stock of who was around, but soon gave up.  They were all Jean’s friends, after all, and Connie hadn’t had the energy to attempt to socialize outside of work since Jean had convinced him to take the job out here in Anaheim.  A few of the faces he recognized as ones that had been to Jean’s parties before, some of whom had added him on Facebook.  But none of them were in any fit state to talk, even though the giant blond man was eyeing Connie up like he wanted to ask for his number, so Connie decided it was probably a better idea to go put his suitcase away than try talking.  Especially when he was running on fumes, and desperately in need of coffee.

  Jean had at least taken the liberty of closing Connie’s room before the party had started.  Hell, there was even a small row of towels lined against the bottom of his bedroom door.  At least Jean had _tried_ , and Connie could appreciate that, not bothering to open his door just yet.  But before heading into the kitchen, Connie popped into the bathroom quickly to turn on the vent fan, nodding at the freckled woman sitting in their bathtub, who was squinting at the phone in her hand as if she couldn’t figure out what she had been doing before the sound of the fan had startled her.  Ymir, if Connie remembered her name correctly, was scowling something fiercely before he ducked out of the bathroom, not wanting to get caught in one of her rants again.  Something about her had rubbed him the wrong way when they’d first met, and Ymir seemed to take great joy in being as rude and terrible as possible to him for no reason.  Connie couldn’t handle that shit before coffee, already heading to the kitchen before Ymir could say anything.

  Another blessing after Jean’s latest party:  The coffeemaker had been left untouched.  After the first party Jean had hosted, Connie’s most beloved machine was stolen.  It had been returned soon after Connie had come home, (Jean had been in the process of screaming at his friends to find out who had jacked the machine when Connie had walked through the front door,) but Connie couldn’t help feeling extra relieved when he found it exactly how he had left it.  He didn’t even mind having to change out the filter like he normally would have.  Connie was just scooping coffee grounds when one of the living room lumps wandered into the kitchen as well,  a sheet drawn over them like a cloak, collapsing against the far end of the counter space.

  Connie glanced at them, wondering if their brown hair (that was twisted into a messy, greasy-looking bun) was as long as it appeared to be due to the size of the bun on their head, before turning back to the coffee.  He didn’t feel like trying to force conversation between himself and a partier, and felt thankful that they didn’t seem to want to try talking.  Maybe they had just woken up, and were going to try to weasel a cup of their own out of the deal before vanishing until the next party.  Either way, Connie was decidedly staring at the coffeemaker as it grumbled to life, when he heard a loud _crunch_ sound, followed almost immediately by a sound of disgust and surprise.

  The lump that had been leaning against the counter was now standing up straight, mouth halfway open in surprise as they stared down at the raw potato in their hand that they’d bitten.  Connie couldn’t help staring as well either.  The lump’s bloodshot hazel eyes flickered up at Connie when they realized they were being watched, before staring at the potato.  Their other hand snapped out quickly to grab a napkin, and they spat the potato chunk in their mouth into it and chucked it into the garbage.

  “...Thought it was a kiwi,” They mumbled dejectedly, letting themselves flop onto one of the spindly kitchen stools, looking very much like a scolded child.  Connie couldn’t help staring even more at that, not exactly sure if he had heard them properly.

  “...A kiwi?  And you eat those with the skin and everything?”  Connie asked with a laugh.  The potato eater frowned slightly, but didn’t confirm or deny Connie’s question.  He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or more confused by this person.  The silence stretched between them as the coffee machine groaned loudly, fresh coffee dribbling happily into the carafe, and only once the last grumbling of coffee percolation was done did Connie decide to introduce himself.

  “Uh, I’m Connie, Jean’s roommate,” He offered to the coffee machine, a bit louder over the sound of him pulling down one of his many mugs from the cabinet.

  “I’m Sasha,” Potato-muncher yawned into their fist, letting the sheet flutter off of their shoulders to reveal their hoodie and tattered jeans underneath.  Stretching their arms well above their head, they eyed Connie’s mug jealously for a second, before bluntly stating “you’re pretty cute.”

  Connie’s brain sort of short circuited.  Compliments?  At this hour?   _Before coffee?_  No, he couldn’t handle that sort of thing.  Connie let out a sound sort of like a steaming kettle as Sasha grabbed a scrap piece of paper off the counter and a pen from their hoodie, scribbling quickly before they shoved the paper into Connie’s hand.

  “Gimmie a call sometime, yea?  Seeya around, baldie.”  They yawned again as they strode out of the kitchen, smirking slightly at the indignant noises Connie made from being called ‘baldie’.  And, well, who was Connie to refuse someone when he still had a lot of questions about _why_ they would attempt to eat a kiwi without at least peeling it.


End file.
